#I doubt you're coming out of this in one piece

[electricneonvalkyrie]

Abby notices when you’re depressed. Let’s talk about how she handles that as your partner.

These are modern Abby headcanons. The list was much longer, but I cut it down considerably to keep it from getting too long-winded. I do have a piece written for WLF Abby. If it's something you want to see, let me know.

Thanks for reading. I'm glad you're here.

• Maybe it’s a slow descent this time… little by little, losing interest in your favourite pastimes and finding it hard to discover meaning in daily life. In the midst of trying to survive, there is suddenly no room left for indulging in your hobbies.

Abby, with every random blanket and sheet she owns, constructs a blanket fort in the living room, offering a pressure-free zone where you can do nothing but feel completely safe and loved.

Super cozy, not too busy, and mega peaceful against the demands of a world that is asking far too much of you in this moment.

Does she deep-dive Youtube tutorials on how to build epic forts that probably belong in a magazine? I mean, yeah. Give her a break, alright? Complete dedication is the way this girl operates, and I’ll die on that hill. Also, Abby is a tall, sturdy girlie, and she needs to fit inside it with you. If you’re going to live in this fort together for the foreseeable future, she needs it to be good for you.

Now, if you want an enormous blanket hanging precariously off the side of the couch with a half-dead flashlight and crinkled comics shoved underneath some pillows, date Ellie. Still cute, still the thought that counts, but she’s no Abigail it’s my mission to save you Anderson.

• Abby stocks up on all your go-to snacks because she gets that it's hard to think about the basics when you're too bone-tired to move… nevermind prioritizing measly things like providing yourself sustenance. She’s got you covered.

• She refuses to let you marinate in the feeling of being a burden. She shuts that shit down fast.

“You’re my person, okay? I’m not going anywhere. End of story.”

• Abby grew up around doctors, so she'll for sure be the one to look up therapists and leave the info pinned to the fridge beneath a small magnet that is, of course, a laminated photo of the two of you on your first date. She describes it as the most important day of her life and brings it up regularly.

“You know, I’ve seen this picture a hundred times, but every time I look at it, it hits me all over again—how much that day meant to me.” Her voice dips low as she confesses something so immensely sacred to her. “The day I realized you weren’t just someone I wanted in my life. I’d been waiting for you without even knowing it. I thought I had it all figured out before you. Fuck, was I ever wrong.”

(Just know there's no rush to decide anything big when it comes to choosing a method of healing, but it's there when you're ready.)

• On your hardest days, she stays close, but she doesn’t push. She’ll busy herself with repairs around the home or folding the mountain of laundry shoved up against the wall in your bedroom.

• Abby loves to buy those cute nightlights with little animals on them or the ones that change colours, and she scatters them around the house. When you’re lost in the darkness, right?

• She serves you warm drinks in your favourite mug and nothing else. She’ll handwash it a million times a day if she must.

• Abby's phone chirps with little alarms throughout the day, reminding her to do something special for you. This is all the time, not just when you’re depressed, to be certain.

• Weighted blankets everywhere. Vehicles included.

• I don’t care what anyone says, Abby is soft as a motherfucker, okay? Is she rough around the edges? Maybe. Yes. 100%. Fine, she’s a hot mess, but will she read you poetry aloud, until her voice is hoarse, and her lips go dry? Without a doubt. There are sticks and jars of lip ointment all over the place wherever Abby resides.

Fun fact: Abby hates when her lips feel dry, even slightly. She is constantly reaching for ChapStick and all its cousins. Whenever someone tells her she should stop using her precious lip stuff because it will improve the sensory nightmare in the long run, she’ll immediately do that pouty, nose crinkle thing at them and ignore the advice without a breath.

• Abby lets you wear all her sweaters. That’s a given. But when you’re depressed, she tends to reach for yours as well. It helps her feel close to you when she’s dealing with her own inner turmoil.

• She doesn’t fuck around when she senses you’re starting to spiral. Her routines are extremely important to her, but she will put them on pause to be there for you.

Now, does she gently, lovingly, force your ass to go on walks with her to get some fresh air somewhere you feel comfortable? Yeah, she does. This might be annoying at times when you’re really struggling, and she knows it. She’ll still encourage movement in a way that is manageable for you if leaving the house is too daunting.

If that means you’re standing on her feet, arms wrapped around her neck while she sways side to side with you, so be it.

• She'll binge-watch your favorite shows and movies with you until she drains all the power in the entire city.

• Abby won't make you feel awkward if you cry. She'll just start crying, too, even if she tries so hard not to. She gets better at keeping it to a little glossy eyed moment, but sometimes your pain is her pain, and the dam just… breaks.

• Abby is an actions over words type of human. She’s a doer. Also, timing doesn’t matter much to her. She is desperate to give you a future to believe in because she is so certain that what the two of you share is everlasting.

Abby proposes to you when your hair is a mess, and you’ve been in the same pajamas for days. Fuzzy teeth? Fear not. She isn’t afraid of the hard times. Her love is an anchor. A constant.

She wants to remind you that you’ll never have to face your dark times alone.

Shadows dance on the tapestry walls of the blanket fort, illuminated by the warm, flickering lights hanging inside. Across from you, Abby lounges with her legs stretched out and her back propped against a pile of soft pillows. She’s quiet for a moment, fiddling with something in her hands.

“You know,” she begins, her voice gentle and husky, like gravel smoothed by unrelenting water. “When I was little, I used to make forts like this with my dad. We’d sit in the middle of all the chaos and just… talk about random shit. Nothing outside could touch us.”

As she glances at you, there is a small, almost shy smile playing on her lips.

“That’s what this feels like—being with you. Even when everything else seems like it’s falling apart, you’re my safe place.”

Abby leans forward, her knees brushing yours, and you realize she’s holding a small velvet box. Her confidence wavers, revealing a hint of vulnerability you rarely see.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while. About us—what we mean to each other.” Her voice cracks a little, causing her to pause and clear her throat before she continues.

“I know you’ve been feeling lost. And I know I can’t fix it, even when it kills me—even when all I want to do is make the hurting go away. But I can promise you this...”

She opens the box, the ring glimmering in the soft light, her affectionate, earnest gaze meeting yours.

"I promise you'll always have someone by your side to help you through it. No matter how dark it gets, I’ll be right here with you. For the tough days, the good ones, everything the world throws at us. Because you’re it for me. You always have been."

With each word, her voice grows softer, filled with an unmistakable tremor of emotion.

“Let me be your person forever. Let me love you, fight for you. Let me build you giant blanket forts until we’re way too fucking old to do it by ourselves—and then let me find new ways to take care of you. Because it’s all I want in this lifetime. You’re all I see. Will you marry me?”

[vonbabbitt]

Throwing this in, though I know you have a post saying you're taking a break: I quite like Tetro. The story is exciting, and incredible. You've done an amazing job piecing everything together, and it has lead to me pretty seriously looking into following the footsteps of this project with a story also told in this audio format, since you demonstrated so clearly not only how this was possible, but how this could be done so well for a Killing Game specifically. The latest events, the latest death, as made me incredibly sad, and I feel a lot of emotional turmoil over losing both victims. But despite that, I have enjoyed the loving, losing, and worrying for the future. That's amazing. All of it is amazing. I have my theories and conclusions about who may be guilty and who isn't, but based on the posts I read, I mainly wanted to express an amount of thankfulness that the series exists at all. It's even lead to me writing fanpieces for some character interactions, and I imagine I have a few more in me from all that's gone on. Not only that, but the hard topics of this series have meant a lot to me. Yanagi and Tsuno have especially felt really close to home. The stories they talk about and the things they deal with matter in my own life. And the series as a whole has made me cry over stuff that mattered to me much more than any other media has done in the last year or so, maybe longer, in even broader strokes. All the characters don't just feel like people one could meet, but people I have met. People I have known. And some of those conversations feel just like ones I've had in my own life. You've done something incredible, and the writing has connected to me deeply. And though I can only speak for me, I doubt I'm alone in this. Thank you for this project, and thank you for sharing it so broadly, freely, and completely. Thanks for writing it, and writing daringly, maturely, and earnestly. At least, such are the ways I would describe it.

I hope I can cross paths with you sometime in the future over a creative endeavor. But in the meanwhile, I'll be tuned in to whatever you do for this, and for whatever comes next. As these things are called asks, if you do decide to respond: Who on Tetro is your favorite? Is it the same from when you were initially writing it? And what lead you to choose an audio drama as the medium in question? Thanks, and see ya at the trial.

thank you very very much, im extremely glad that youve been able to connect with my writing on that level and i hope that others have as well! i really enjoyed the writing process for tetro so its always really cool for me when others can enjoy my story as well

also, my favourite is hama! that changed a lot during production, but ive settled on hama as my goat forever i think. sorry to all the other favs i abandoned along the way

i chose the audio drama format because ive always really liked being able to picture things. when i was a kid, i used to fall asleep to audio books every night, and i really liked being able to picture the characters and stories as they were happening. i would always be so disappointed when id go to watch a movie adaptation of a book i liked only to see that everything looked different from in my head lmao.

i also think audio is a really fun format for this type of story! it was a fun challenge to get my points across without having visuals to back my writing. i didnt have very much faith in my ability to do this at first. tetro was originally planned to have a narrator because i didnt think id be able to tell a story without one. when i realized my writing could stand on its own, i took out the narrator and just let myself carry it as best i could. i think it made for some really fun opportunities where the impact of a scene just wouldnt have been nearly as strong if there had been visuals or narration.

i think [Ice Fairy] is a highlight of tetro in terms of audio storytelling - same with [Good Child]. having only audio forces you as the viewer to take a moment to figure out what's happening, which in turn gives you an "oh shit" realization moment that really helps the impact of a scene like [Ice Fairy] or [Good Child]. there are still some more really cool examples of tetro utilizing its format left to come - i hope you enjoy them when they do!

[bullet-prooflove]

Next Time: Endeavour Morse x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @caffeinatedwoman

Companion piece to:

Bruises

Morse meets you at the university, during one of his cases. He’s just leaving an interview with one of the fellows when he spots you on the lawn outside, dismissing your class. There’s a radiance to you he’s never seen in another person, a confidence that he envies. He can’t seem to tear himself away as the gaggle of young women filter past him, a copy of The Feminine Mystique tucked neatly under each their arms.

“I’m surprised there hasn’t been a riot amongst the old boys.” He says as he finds himself crouching down to help you pick up the discarded copies of Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar. “They don’t usually like this sort of thing.”

“They don’t really get a choice in the matter.” You say as you tuck another book under his chin, on top of the stack he already has resting against his chest. “Our Pro-Vice-Chancellor is a woman, I’d like to see them argue with her about the validity of feminist studies.”

“Oh I’m sure some of them would try.” He says as he trails after you back into the building. The books bounce uncomfortably against his ribcage as he takes the steps that lead through the entrance way. “I doubt they’d get very far.”

“Oxford boy yourself are you?” You ask as you remove a key from your pocket, jamming it into the lock of your classroom. Odd, he thinks considering everyone else leaves their doors wide open or ajar but then he sees the note that’s been shoved under the door, the cursive letters written black fountain pen ink.

WHORE, it reads.

“Comes with the territory.” You tell him as you scrunch it up in your fist before tossing it into the bin. “Some of the men here don’t like the fact that I’m educating young women to think for themselves instead of reinforcing the patriarchal message of shut up and be a good little wife and mother.”

“I could track them down for you.” He says as he sets the books down upon your desk. “Tell them what will happen if they persist.”

“We both know all that will do is pour fuel on the fire.” You say as you begin to file the books away onto the shelving against the back wall. “Besides I’d like to handle it my own way.”

He’s inclined to ask exactly what that is but you’re interrupted by the arrival of your next class of students.

“Until next time Mr…” You gesture for him to supply his name.

“Morse.” He tells you, reaching out to shake your hand. “Detective Constable.”

It’s a few weeks later that he reads the paper to discover a scathing assassination of Professor Jonty Montgomery’s character. The piece details years of blatant plagiarism on half a dozen of his works and the persistent sexual harassment of several female students.

“They’ve been forced to fire him.” You tell him when you join him for dinner later on that evening. “They’re more annoyed about the plagiarism than the harassment. They could ignore the complaints but they can’t ignore him making a fool of their academic reputation.”

There’s something in your voice, a slight inflection that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He tilts his head towards you, his gaze meeting yours over the piece of chocolate fudge cake you're sharing.

“You?” He asks softly.

“It started small.” You tell him stabbing the cake with much more force than necessary with your fork. “The odd accidental grope here and there, when he became more forceful I gave him a bloody nose. He responded by pissing on my desk.”

“And then you destroyed his reputation.” He summarises, nodding his head agreeably. “More fool the next man that crosses you, you’d skin them alive and wear their pelt.”

It’s a half joke really, but there’s a seriousness to it. You’re a woman fighting against the tide of a man’s world, it wouldn’t do not to showcase the spoils of war. You’d made sure your name was used in that article, you wanted your colleagues to know what would happen to the next man that laid a hand on you or your students.

“Does that scare you?” You ask him as you dab at the corners of your lips with a napkin.

“No.” He says, the edges of his mouth tipping up into a smile. “I much rather admire it.”

He takes you to bed that night, his palms chasing over the black lace you wear underneath that starched white shirt as he makes love to you with the sound of Nino Rota in his ears. You climax together as the music hits it’s peak, the violin breaking off as the record ends and he finds himself drowning in the ecstasy of you.

He wakes up alone the next morning, a copy of The Feminine Mystique left upon his side table with a note that reads “I look forward to hearing your thoughts next time.”

He smiles as his fingertips trace over the cover, the scent of your perfume still clinging to his skin.

Next time…

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[universalzones]

"Calm yourself Vector, we were simply wonder what you knew, that is all. I'm sure everyone here knows you did all you could. The situation is intense, and there is a lot going on so no one can fault you for not being able to go with Jewel to make sure she stayed safe. Still, something must've happened to her from the time she left you. Let us hope she is simply delayed for the time being." Blaze was rather concerned, though it would be unwise to leave now.

Belle's eyes would flash for a moment which make her look up from the screen. "I do hope this is nothing, though Belle Bot just sent me some footage and it seems the part where we keep any criminals has been completely destroyed by a piece of the airship. Crossing that with the path Jewel took and she might've been close where that happened." The tinkerer hoped it was nothing, though it wasn't looking good.

"Alright, then I can go check it out since I'm not really needed here as much compared to the rest of you." Rowan would be on the sidelines whenever they called the President anyway so better him than anyone else. "And before any of the people who move at the speed of sound ask, I don't need a ride. I'd rather keep my lunch." The lemur didn't intend to be zipped around at high speeds today.

"A sound plan since if you have to you can use that Shadow Wisp to get around and blockage without much effort if need be." Given all he knew about everyone here Rowan seemed like the best pick to go check with himself or Miles coming in a close second. Even then he doubt either of them had anything useful to get around any blockage without risk

===========================================================

Surge wasn't expect to come across so many road blocks, though it was clear a piece of the airship had fallen before the big mother Wisp managed to move it far enough from the base. Though the tenrec's focus went to hearing some yell Greenie and soon spotted the bee. The speedster skidding to a stop as they floated over to her.

"That name's Surge, not Greenie. What do you want? I'm kinda busy here and you're clearly good enough to move and get yourself to the infirmary." Surge may came off as blunt and rather dismissive of the fact the other was clearly hurt, though she was looking for Jewel and they were still able to move. Might as well see just what he wants since he took the time to flag her down.

Of course everyone's eyes went to Vector as he went ridged as a board! Of course they weren't wrong he had been there to get her and the others off the shuttle. But truth was they split up shortly after landing but he had a feeling he was gonna get chewed out! He felt backed into a corner and honestly! alot happened so fast and he wasn't even hired to look after her--- but here he was being glared at by everyone!

" WOAH WOAH hold yer dang horses! I did what i was asked ta do, i got her on the ground! and we did it without crashin' and everything! but then she says to me... i need to get to the command center and buzzes off before i can stop her! i sent Charmy after her but i ain't seen neither one... so i'm just as worried as you! "

Espio sighed and gave a sideways glance as Vector got very defensive at the stares.

" To be fair... with our track record... its a miracle we managed to land without crashing... but Vector is right. Jewel was anxious to get here... and at the time we were moving people to the infirmary. If she didn't make it here... i pray Amy's attacker didn't get to her first..."

Miles was concerned by this information, and the fact Vector said nothing was classic Vector. but in his defense he probably assumed she was here and gone already or off doing something more important. He didn't blame Vector for losing her so much, and he sent Charmy with her. The kid was alot of things but he wouldn't have left Jewel alone...

" Belle has the right idea, we'll check security and see if we can find her. Also check for Charmy i bet the two won't be to far apart... Knowing Jewel it would have had to be real important for her to deviate from her duty as Director... she's always been dedicated to her work..."

he sighed

" All we can do now... is wait... "

===========================================

the teenage Bee struggled against the debris as he pushed himself up from where he'd nearly been crushed. The only thing he could think to do was push Miss Jewel into the Cell with Rough and Tumble and hope she would make it. Looking up at the sky from the hole in the roof it seemed like a piece of the airship had fallen and got snagged on an upper high way. When the airship finally crashed it fell down into the prison.

Ten years ago he'd have been to small and weak to do anything, but he was a teenager now. He and Vector fought alot about the risks he took and, how brazen he could be. Maybe he as right, he was pretty messed up but at least he could fly. Luckily his helmet seemed to have saved his head from being cracked open.

Charmy buzzed up into the air holding his busted shoulder and looking around for help. That's when he saw the green flash of motion and he was sure Vector would call him dumb or foolish for flagging her down! heck she might just laugh at him!

" HEY! HEY! GREENIE! OVER HERE!! oww... my shoulder... "

He winced landing on the street so she could reach him.

" I'm gonna get so grounded for this... i just know it... or worse V will take my drivers license away... maaaaaan this bites! "

[luvzxr]

Little Pougie

Chapter 7

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Hey All! I've been pretty low lately so this is coming up late and I am sorry.

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Summery; In which fem!reader is the little sister of John B Routledge. Sweet, gentle and innocent. The complete opposite of JJ Maybank but he finds himself falling for her and he stop himself from doing so.

Pairing; Fem!reader x JJ Maybank

Word Count; 1,950

Warnings; Throughout this series there are talks of abuse, drug and alcohol use, trauma, talks of self doubt and wanting to be unalived. Possible smut in the future as well so read at your own risk!

Drown .07

(Y/n)

I usually don't hang out with Sarah or Kie - scratch that, I never really did. But when John B bats his ridiculous eyelashes with a puppy like plead, I usually could never tell him no. You could say that both of us like to use our puppy charm on each other. I couldn't complain though, I was having a good time with Sarah and Kie. I didn't have any other girlfriends than the two older ladies, one practically married to my brother and the other in love with his best friend, unexpectedly becoming the only two girls I could trust and hang around. It wasn't like I had a choice in the matter either.

And that's how I ended up positioned on the sofa in Sarah Cameron's little, but luxurious apartment her father handed over to her in a way to apologize to her. Of course, she hadn't accepted the apology but she needed the place to stay and it was probably the closest way she could get that as of right now. I'd much rather be sat up at home with a well over-sugared up drink and left over wrappers from numerous little bars of KitKat's but I wasn't entirely miserable lounging around with Kie and Sarah either. I had nothing else better to do on a Friday night and we weren't doing anything crazy. We were just sat on the small pieces of furniture, having a conversation.

I wasn't exactly the one having the conversation. Kie and Sarah were having their own little conversation about the boy troubles they'd been having with JJ and John B. I had no love interest to talk about so I found no need to pay much attention, let alone jump in with my two cents. So I was absent minded for the time being.

"(Y/n/n)?"

"Huh?" I said, my posture straightening once I realized my attention needed to be somewhere it truly mattered now.

"You're really quiet. What's up?" the blonde pointed out, pulling her legs up and crossing them over each other. She looked genuinely concerned and it made me question if JJ had mentioned to them about the incident that happened at work, which gave me all the more reason to try not to be suspicious. If John B found out then I'd never be able to work a day in my life again.

I shook my head, "I just don't have much to talk about," my shoulders rising up and falling back down. I truly wasn't interested in anyone and I partially had John B to blame for that. Most boys I did show interest in would only be shot down by my brother because he didn't like how the boy acted, where he came from, or just in general didn't like the idea of me being around him. I was a hopeless romantic but I wasn't exactly miserable, either.

I had nothing to really complain about because most of those boys eventually turned out to be exactly what John B warned me about. I had nothing but gratitude for him, regardless of his repetitive ways of protecting me.

"Have you ever been in love, (Y/n)?" the girl's brows furrowed.

All I could do was shake my head, which I guess seemed shocking to hear from a sixteen-year-old girl because Sarah seemed surprised. Maybe it was because no one really seemed to acknowledge the fact that I've never had a romantic connection with anyone other than fantasy characters on my favorite T.V. shows. I had no experience in that department-- most assumed I at least had a first kiss or even a hand-holding memory but I didn't. I was a virgin in almost every section and nothing was checked off the list.

"Well that's gonna have to change this summer," she said, in a matter-of-fact tone.

"What?"

"Yep,"

"You can't force love, Sarah," I groaned.

"No, but you can put yourself out there more (Y/n/n)." Sarah pointed in my direction, giving me that certain look. Yknow, that look a person gives you when they know they're right and all you can do is let out a small puff of air in defeat.

"I've tried, Sarah. That doesn't work in my favor,"

I tried so many times to put myself out there, but almost every time I had I was proven I should have never done so in the first place. The men now of days wanted nothing more than to tear into the innocence of inexperienced girls in order to show off to their friends and I wasn't going to be some trophy, I knew better than that-- I wanted more than that.

It wasn't my fault that most guys were dickheads and found that reserving myself for the right guy was prudish. I wanted to make sure that if I was going to do anything with a guy, he was going to be the right person to do it with and so far, none of them fit that category yet. I wasn't going to let some self-centered asshole get under my skin about wanting to be with the right guy.

I was tempted to call John B and beg him to bring me home, I knew he'd pick up in a heartbeat knowing I was waiting for his answer on the other end of the line. Only I knew that if I called I'd have to explain to him why I didn't want to stay and endure the fact that he wouldn't take, 'nothing John B,' as an answer. I also didn't want to cause unnecessary arguing between my brother and his lover because they haven't been on the best of terms recently anyway.

I was stuck between a rock and a hard place-- with no other options on my plate.

I could feel myself letting my mind wander off too far because every word slipping from Sarah's mouth became nothing but muffled sounds and I could do nothing but scold myself internally while trying to snap back to reality. Maybe it was just the topic of boys that hit home for me, or maybe it was just I found more comfort inside my head than expressing my trauma in fear that it would be passed down to my brother who eventually would never be able to live with himself if he knew the truth about my life and experiences.

John B's whole existence seemed to revolve around the simple task of keeping me out of harm's way, but even he couldn't do that and I don't blame him one bit for. He couldn't stand at my side for the rest of his life and I think even deep down, he knew that but he tried to be. He tries to be the big brother he's supposed to be but sometimes he also has to be a father and a mother at the same time and that's something he doesn't necessarily know how to be-- especially when he didn't get the luxury of feeling the parent love himself for a long period of time.

It was rough on him, too.

I knew he tried to keep himself together in front of me and everyone else— how he refused to have others worry about him when they had worse problems to focus on, and I'd never tell him this because I'd hate to see his face fall while I'd tell him but there have been multiple times where I've caught him sobbing—the kind of sobbing where you can't seem to make a noise but the broken plastered all over your face explains every ounce of pain you are feeling inside. Those moments are enough to break me, seeing my brother suffer in silence only to bounce back when he has to show his face around everyone is just a type of pain I can barely handle on the hardest days.

However, I wasn't too far gone to realize the immense buzzing at my side.

I glanced down, taking a quick peek at the caller ID, and realized it was the devil himself; John B.

You probably need to stop thinking about him, he can most definitely hear your thoughts.

A mix of shock and confusion filtered through my face but I reluctantly brought the device to my ear, not bothering to scan through the possible outcomes that were to come after picking up this call.

"Hello?"

"Hey Pougie," My brother slurred a tad with his words. He was tipsy but not completely gone. He sounded in distress, which was never good to hear when we were separated.  "I'm sorry to call you like this and interrupt your girls' night-"

"You didn't interrupt," I interrupt, trying to reassure him, "What's going on?"

"It's JJ."

My face fell the moment I heard his name, "What's wrong?"

I'm not sure why, but when it comes to JJ and drinking it always seems to end unpleasantly and I always assume something is wrong-- most times, it's nothing and they just need me to come help take care of him but there are other times when the boy has held too much in than he bursts when liquor comes into the equation.

I could hear a sigh on the other end before he continued, "He's drunk too much again and I kinda need your help. You're better at this stuff than I am,"

A part of me was inching for him to get on with it-- blurt it out if you will but then the other part was terrified to find out what kind of trouble JJ could have gotten himself into tonight.

"What do you mean?"

"It's like he exploded again (Y/n/n)," I could hear the worry beginning to devour his tone and at that moment I could feel my heart drop to the pit of my stomach.

"Yeah, I can come home."

"He's been asking for you and said you're the only one he can talk to about this."

My facial expression morphed into full on confusion, and quite a bit of concern for JJ's state of mind currently.

Why am I the only person he can talk to?

"A-alright, I'll be there shortly then?"

I can hear a faint but familiar voice in the background of the call before John B could respond to me, "Is she coming?"

"Yeah man, she's on her way," my brother retorted with what I can only imagine of a small head nod.

A small pause filled the room on the other end and even on my own, I suppose no one really knew what to say until John B broke the silence.

"I'll see you soon (Y/n/n). Be careful and call me if you need me to pick you up, Okay?" 

I wasn't sure If I wanted to trust the boy's driving in this state of mind. He was decent, even when he wasn't sober but nonetheless, he still gave me practical anxiety attacks each time we drove while he was intoxicated. I think I'd rather take my chances of walking home than I would take being in a vehicle with John B currently.

"I'll see you soon JB and I'll be okay," I wander off out of the living room to find my belongings before reluctantly ending the ten-minute long phone call.

For a moment, I fell back into my own little world but this time it was racking through the endless amount of horrible things that are currently going on with JJ, and how almost all of them ended the same exact way they always had.

Downing more liquor.

The boy had a liver, I'd give him that but I worried about him and how much longer he could keep up with this before something more critical was to happen and there was nothing that anyone could do to fix it this time around.

He let himself drown every time.

[connectionterminated13]

Also for Vanny specifically, Vanessa wouldn't be doing the top surgery it would be the crazy murder Bunny.

[petrichal]

Does anyone else find the scene of Conis getting "God's Judgement" on Angel Island very reminiscent of Lulusia getting wiped off the map?

While I don't think they have anything to do with each other story-wise, I find it super interesting how the very arc where they deal with a self-proclaimed god, his powers are mimicked further in the story but on a much larger scale, and still done by a "higher existence" (Imu isn't a "god" per se but they're said to be the "supreme leader"; someone above Celestial Dragons who claim to have the creator's blood- so not that far off from the concept of "god" tbh).

Along with the foreshadowing (?) of Gear 5th, Skypiea feels like a miniature version of the entirety of world in the future. Giant craters and perceived "gods" fighting with hopes/dreams on the line (-> the ringing of the giant belfry (song of the island) signifying the existence of what was thought to be myth, symbolized by the City of Gold and maybe, also the One Piece?) as the final end to the battle.

[snackugaki-jestsjapesjokes]

ヤッホー ！！スナクがきついたよ！°˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

でも 日本語が少し分かります

ngl my ass had to whip out my old dictionary because I doubt my reading level is a solid N5 when I don't practice as often as I should. also since japanese is my third language so idk, I'm gonna try ok

so! i do rag on and bully these poor turtles a lot but the kanji on them is very like.... gymbro style "fire", "dragon", "strength" type of tattooing or marking oneself. Which does fit considering Bay splinter taught them ninjutsu from a book he found while sweeping the sewers. To me, they're canonical ninjaboos (affectionate).

but usually it's like a motto or a mantra or an oath that's tattooed if ever but that's neither koko nor soko

_ _ _

starting with Leo's bandana

So yeah, confirmed for 息子, musuko. more or less. looks like 'musu' is missing a few strokes plus a few misplaced ones. anyway. looks like it was written on with a paint pen. i would think splinter wrote it because it just seems kinda weird for Leo to have written it himself. i don't have the linguistic perspective to describe why it seems weird to just have "son" on his mask. "blue son" would be less weird actually, "beloved son" would work. "upstanding son". but just "son" is like... idk man, ig, they replaced it with a bunch of staples in 2016 so moot

I cannnnnot get a clean shot of his shell kanji the only clear part is 子

three zero action figure of Out of the Shadows Leonardo

I got this from the figure but even zoomed in I can't make heads or tails of the first kanji, i feel like this puzzle is for someone whose first language is japanese

visually something about the top kanji makes me think about those "fonts" that arbitrarily assign kanji radicals to the english alphabet to "spell" things. at most it looks like whatever kanji it is it has the 勹 radical other than that? a mystery to me

_ _ _

now for Raph's 憤

which is an example of what I mean by gymbro-style "dragon" or "strength" tattoos in that 憤 is not exactly a word by itself, it's part of a word or I guess concept would be better? either way it's like writing "indig" instead of "indignation"

憤慨 fungai, is "indignation", technically it IS also "anger" in that when you resent someone you're also a little angry at them. Which considering... Raph does a lot of resenting, he resented being benched, he resented not being told about the purple ooze, he resented Leo for disregarding not only his but also Mikey's input.

i guess if you wanted to keep 憤 then 憤激 (fungeki) fury would work?

i think the funniest thing is the font choice for 憤 as it's written on his bandana because it's like a very official for-use-in-textbooks type of font. like the kind of font for government buildings or legal documents.

tried to find in-movie examples alas, three zero coming in clutch with the clearest details for at least the Out of the Shadows designs. but. looks like another chopping problem where there's 憤 and 怒 which together don't really make a word. although 怒 oko from 怒るokoru which is the "angry" you use when you say things like "I'm angry!" again, both kanji are written with the legal document font which: haha heehee

獣 confirmed though i'd go so far as to guess he meant for it be "brute" either way it hurts a little because the connotation is like "unthinking beast compared to thinking human", like the whole sort of "the difference between 'animal' and 'man' is like logic/reason/empathy whatever". especially since this is his 2014 design when he was accusing April of taking pictures of the freaks to show her friends

_ _ _

now for donnie's 明

i think this is another case of just putting in a piece of a word. 明 by itself is like the phenomenon of something being visually bright and the light we see but i'm guessing they were thinking of trying to put adjectives on them for in-jokey sort of design tells. in that case I would have opted for like 説明 setsumei (explanation) which.... explains itself ba dum tss or i guess on a more serious take 明確 meikaku (precise, clear, definite) which is bay Donnie with his habit of expressing the probability of something happening in percentages down to the like 8th decimal place

_ _ _

annnd Mikey's 仲

This one was a little frustrating as the most handwritten looking one. at one point I swore it looked like 5 TH but whether the top mark is a 5 or an S or even a 己 at a stretch. again it seems someone who might have a passing familiarity with how hanzi/kanji works possibly swiped a part because given 仲 I'd have went with 仲間 nakama yes like from One Piece, comrade, the kind you go up to bat for or fight a shark man with a chainsaw for a nose. hell 仲良し nakayoshi the shoujo manga magazine?! good friend/close friend, Mikey can be anyone's nakayoshi and if you're not careful to stay aloof Mikey will instantly consider you nakama.

hoo, yeah, those are my best guesses idk man

Okay nertles, I need Bayverse help on my little investigation and appreciation journey. Today I’m looking into the kanji on the turtle designs, please help me fill in the blanks and correct me!

Leonardo’s shell has a painted 子 for son, and also “ne” sign of the rat in the zodiac (which isn’t just interesting in the Splinter way, but in the way that the ninja turtles were first conceived of in 1983 but published in May of 1984, making the franchise’s “birth year” the year of the Rat). His bandanna tails either say 忍 子 patience and son or just son 息子

Raphael’s scarification on his right arm, bandanna, and shell are all the same, “憤”indignant/hate, but beneath it on his shell is “怒” which means to get angry (like ok, we get it), and his bandanna appears to say “beast” 獣.

Donatello’s bandanna tails have bright 明 on them.

And Michelangelo has this, and I can’t find anyone talking about this at all but it looks like poorly written kanji for naka, go-between/relationship “仲”, which would make so much sense with his being the heart of the group and most socially outgoing.

I’m so sure there’s more, pretty sure Mike and Don both also have shell paint but I can’t find good screens. Will update this as people add if they do.

[shithowdy]

this is your periodic reminder that for all the artifacts and errors and "tells" one could possibly list, the only reliable way to actually determine if an image is ai generated is to investigate the source. it is becoming increasingly common for "fake classical paintings" to circulate around curative aesthetic blogs, and everyone should be using this as an opportunity to not only exercise their investigative skills but also appreciate art more in general. you're all checking out the artists you reblog, right? 🫣

so what are some signs to look for? let's use this very good example.

what a lovely late-impressionist piece blended with evocative leyendecker-esque themes! why haven't you ever heard of this artist before? surely tumblr would be all over an artist like this. who is justin brown?

your two options from here are to do a search for the name, or a reverse image search. i prefer reverse image searching, particularly when it comes to a common name like "justin brown". so what does that net?

Immediately, without looking at any text, something is wrong: it barely exists. an actual historical piece would turn up numerous results from websites individually discussing the piece, but no such discussions are taking place. Looking at the text, though, does show the source-- and at least in this case, the creator was honest about their medium.

But let's also look at the "exact matches", in case a source doesn't make itself apparent in the initial sidebar results like this.

This section will often tell you post dates of images, and here it can be seen that the very first iteration of the image was posted 15 days ago. It did not exist online prior to that.

Seeing how long an unsourced image has been floating around is a skill applicable to more than just generative images! See a cool image of an artifact or other intriguing item with a vivid caption? Reverse search it! If all the results are paired with that caption and only go back a few months, you might just have viral facebook spam.

Sometimes generative creators are dishonest about their medium and do not tag it like in the example, so that's when establishing "jpeg provenance" becomes important. While it can be a little trickier to determine if someone is using generative images and not admitting to it if they aren't trying to pass it off as a classic, something to consider is the age of their account and the frequency with which they post. Here are some account red flags:

-Did they only start posting art after 2022, or if they did before, did their style/skill level WILDLY change? Not gradual improvement-- I'm talking amateur graphite portraits straight into complex digital renders. Everyone starts somewhere, newness is not a red flag alone; it's newness combined with existing in a vacuum away from any community.

-Do they post fully-finished paintings several times a week? -Do many of these paintings seem iterative of a similar theme or subject matter ("three well-dressed young men face each other under shade and dappled sunlight")?

-Does their style change in inconsistent ways? An artist that can swap between painting like Drew Struzan and Hokusai should be pretty well known, right? Why is no one hyping this guy?!

-Do they have social media besides the source instagram? If so, what are they posting about? Are there any WIPs? Doodles? Interactions with other artists? Gallery dates? 3am self-doubt posts? Or is it all self-promo? Crypto? Seemingly nothing art-related at all for someone pushing out 3 weekly paintings?

Basically, if it's important to you to omit this stuff when you curate, please don't just smash reblog if the source doesn't seem to be the OP themselves. Seeking out sources was important even before this became an issue, now it is more than ever.

peace n love

[metranart]

Imagine Gojo setting a condition to his Clan for him to give them an heir. "It's HER or no one." The elders aren't happy that he chose a non-sorcerer, but they reluctantly agree... that is, if Gojo manages to convince you.

“Come here-...I’m far from done, kitten.”

God, Gojo still makes you nervous, with his mouth buried between your legs for longer than you can even imagine. Why are you still so nervous? Is it the proximity? Is it the way he leans in to make eye contact while he licks you? Is it those blue piercing eyes? Or that immensely amused smirk that twists his lips just enough so he can keep eating you out?

"Mmmmm... stop moving so much, (Y/N). We are making a mess of my desk..." he purrs, all too pleased to watch your eyes roll to the back of your skull. "That’s my good girl..." the man between your legs, praises, "my future bride to be...-"

"T-...that's still u-...under discussion, S-Satoru." Your quivering protests are sweet chords of music for him, "I already t-.... told you that I d-don't want to be part of the jujutsu world.... nor b-belong to a-.... any clan."

"Not any clan, pretty. MY clan." 

You hear him slurp greedily at your folds and feel a warm trick of saliva run down your ass, and when your mouth is about to throw another protest-... Satoru Gojo makes a vacuum on your quivering clit with that annoying mouth of his. Your thighs tense and the muscles of your stomach follow, a quake that rakes your entire form, making you a pathetic mock of a human.

Both your hands fly to cover your mouth and Satoru chuckles deep, amused rumble that cracks the rest of your self-control. Your cheeks grow in the most adorable shade of pink, and your breathing hastens.

"So CUTE~"

Satoru whimpers, dumb founded, his broad chest puffing with so much fervor, so much blinding endearment that he feels like about to explode. He can see the doubt in your beautifully contorted features, and he dips his tongue inside you, fucking you with that fat tongue to try to make you agree to his terms, to be HIS.

Dammit! You feel… amaaaaaazing. Why? It’s like a flip inside you only he can switch at will—... even so, he’s dangerous, you remember. He’s a special grade sorcerer, you remember. He’s a mystery, he’s unpredictable—he’s invincible, unreadable, impenetrable and lethal with a playful smile, and you really know absolutely nothing about him. 

Yet, he insists that you belong together. He insists on putting his child inside you, he insists that he will take care of you and his life will be yours. He insists that you belong in his world and if you're not there, he won't be there either. He insists on fucking you stupid every chance he gets, bending you over surfaces, of course! Always putting his coat or his shirt or any piece of his clothing, just so your skin never comes into contact with any unworthy surface. He insists, he insists and insists and insists...

“Fuck—” he growls, grabbing your hips, “—why are you... h-how do you manage to always have me wrapped around your little finger—?” 

“I want you, Satoru-u... but I can't-” 

He stops you with a soft but firm, squeeze to your waist. 

“Not like this,” he pants, tipping his head to slowly lick a strip down your sweet cunt, a farewell caress, the whisper of a kiss to his last effort before lunch time is over and he can try again, later. “Let me pretend just for a little longer that you said yes—"

Your gaze drops to his trembling thighs and the warmth that settles in the pit of your tummy is intensified by the clear drop of precum shining at the tip of his gloriously thick and long cock, now achingly swollen and a mouthwatering shade darker in color than the rest of him.  

“I'm yours, Satoru-” you offer in a quiet whisper and can feel him shake his head. “You aren't.... but I’ll make you change your mind. You, just watch me, kitten."

➡️ 👀 NSFW Sneak Peek artwork HERE ;)

➡️ FULL NSFW ART of this story

[satoruxx]

you're sweating when you wake up, skin sticking painfully to your bedsheets as your bleary eyes dart around, attempting to make focus of your surroundings. the room is still dark, barely touched by the slight bit of moonlight that attempts to peak through the closed windows—defiant. it takes a minute to realize that the sounds that are breaking the silence are actually coming from your own throat—breathy, wheezing gasps of terror.

your stomach drops when your fingers grip cold and empty fabric. he's gone he's gone he's go—

"what are you doing up, pretty?"

your head snaps to the doorway. satoru stands there, sweats hanging low on his hips even as his hand remains curled around a glass of water. his hair is tousled with sleep, but his cerulean eyes are sharp and lively.

as soon as he sees the panic lacing your expression, his eyes widen, long legs practically tripping over themselves as he stumbles towards you.

"what happened?" he asks sharply, frantically placing the cup on the bedside table to take your face into his palms. shades of blue dart back and forth across your features as he perches one knee on the mattress and peers down at you. "are you okay?"

his touch sends electricity through your veins—a splash of ice water pulling you away from that painful reverie.

your heart both clenches and soars, the idea of what you saw being terrifying, and yet finding out it wasn't true being that much more relieving.

"i just—" your voice comes out choked, and satoru's fingers twitch against your skin imperceptibly. "had a bad dream."

you think your brain must be cruel for conjuring up a dream in which satoru could suffer to such abhorrent extents.

"oh sweets." satoru's sigh is sympathetically soft, thumb brushing over the apple of your cheek just barely. "it was just a nightmare."

"i know," you swallow, voice shaking. there's an uncharacteristic wetness pooling at your waterline. "i-it just felt so real."

"baby..." satoru immediately pulls you against the steady planes of his chest, thick arms snaking around your waist to eliminate any measly amount of distance between you two. you prop your chin on his shoulder, sighing as you feel his snowy hair tickling at your cheek.

"it wasn't real, sweetheart," he says, pulling back just slightly to push a piece of hair from your face. his thumb then drags under your eyes, wiping away the unshed tears. "see. you're here, i'm here. everything's all good."

"yeah." you're nodding, unable to take your eyes off of him because he's real and alive and so breathtakingly perfect. "yeah, you're right."

he gives you a lopsided smile, eyes bright and glowing. "i don't like to brag, but i usually am."

you snort out a laugh, missing the way his expression turns pleased at the sound. "hilarious. you love to brag."

"you got me there," he shrugs, grinning as you stick your tongue out at him. the lighthearted banter solidifies the fact that satoru is fine and unharmed and completely yours, but you can still feel the apprehension coursing through your veins. chills run up your spine—you try not to show it.

but of course, satoru has always been able to see right through you.

his teasing smile goes soft, and he inhales deeply.

"was it about me?" he asks, climbing into bed next you. you lay back down carefully.

"yeah," you mumble, watching him tug the blankets over your body and tuck you both under a cocoon of warmth.

"hm." something in his tone tells you he's not unfamiliar with the feelings you seem to be experiencing—his body shifts closer to yours. ocean eyes carefully asses you, deep and calculating and so concerned even as he smoothes a warm palm over your shoulder blades. "wanna tell me what happened?"

the truth is you do want to, because satoru has always understood you better than you've ever understood yourself—you have no doubt he'd be able to comfort you just as well as he normally does.

and yet...

"no," you answer, pressing your nose into his neck. a deep breath in, the lively scent that is so inherently your gojo satoru filling your very soul. "it's okay. i think i'll be fine."

when you shut your eyes, images flash behind them—of bloodied bodies and stitches and swapped souls. yet a chaste kiss to your forehead pulls you back to where you're supposed to be, warm and grounding.

"i know you'll be fine," satoru murmurs, lips tickling your brow as he speaks. you think you can hear the gentle smile as he says it, and your grip on him tightens—never letting go. "i'm right here after all."

[erasinglines]

at the end of this, it’s hard not to feel gutted; hollowed out and empty, as if he’s been turned from the inside out, raw and waiting for all to see. can’t deny that the verity they’ve been relaying has been draining, but it’s been a long time coming, he thinks— no longer speaking in codes around each other, each communicating in a language the other didn’t speak. they’ve always been on the same page, able to understand that most intricate parts of each other, pieces of him that’s gathered cobwebs, locked away in the deepest corners of his mind. from so early on, he’d found such a comfort in her, as easy as breathing. even easier, he thinks, like she was essential to his very being, the reason that his body functioned on a day-to-day basis. it hadn’t taken much, for that to string them together, souls entangled from the moment their eyes met at that party, all those years ago, hands intertwined while they seeking solace elsewhere. he hadn’t known it then, in that moment, but that sanctuary has always come from her— her, as a person. no matter how much distance is between them, or where they are, how much time has passed. it’s always been her, for him, no matter the circumstances. that hasn’t changed now, even with all they’ve gone through, deliberate actions or not. his gaze softens, as he looks at her now, wanting nothing more than to take back all that’s occurred tonight, to be whoever she needs him to be, to be what she wants. he’s had doubts that he hasn’t been for some time now, that clearly she’s found something better in fletcher— that whatever they'd once shared was long gone, only remnants, crumbles of a structure, that once stood so tall left in its place. now, he can see that maybe neither one of them have been fully honest about the natures of their relationship; that much he knew, if tonight's conversations were anything to go by, if their night a few weeks prior had anything to say, too. has never been great at remaining angry at her, anyway, as if his body is physically incapable of doing do for very long. so, as she takes a step closer, he does too, as if to tell her that, to remind her that this is how he's always preferred them, with her right within his reach. and his hand aches to reach out to her further, as if a single touch could make up for all of his wrongdoings, but he holds back, that hand clenched at his side. " it's okay, " he assures her, that gentle glint back in his eye, colour returning to his face. " this is all... pretty fucked up, i guess. guess it always has been. " and the chuckle that rumbles from his throat, this time around, is genuine. clipped around the edges, sure, as he paints the obvious, but that bitterness is no longer attached to his words. " i'd like that, though. starting over, i mean. if you still want me around, that is— know i haven't been very fair on you, that i've only been making things harder than they need to be, " a gulp, then, as if it encapsulates the regret, the guilt, that's been festering inside him, dating back to the moment he'd left. " it's just... you're always going to be someone that i want, and i don't know how to get rid of that, " doesn't know if he wants to. " and if that complicates things too much, i get it, you know? my goal in this has never been to hurt you.

it was cruel, what she said to him that fateful day over coffee. there was something wrong with her, she thinks, to ever say those words out loud to him, to lie about something she knew would hurt just to get a reaction. she wasn’t thinking of the consequences then, and that’s why she knows she deserves to face his frustration and his ire, now, to hear just how deeply her actions affected him. “ no, that was so fucked up, i know, i just… i was so jealous and scared that you found something better than what we had, so i lashed out, and it was fucking awful of me. i should’ve just told you the truth, instead, ” that no one else compares, in the slightest. there’s contrition written all over her countenance, shame and regret permeating every single syllable that leaves her lips. “ and i know that doesn’t fix it, and it’s okay if you hate me for it because i think i hate myself for it, too, i just… i’m so fucking sorry for ever putting that in your head. ” now having the same experience herself, she would do anything to wipe it from his memory entirely, just like she wished someone would do for her, right now. she understands now that this is why exes generally weren’t advised to talk after a break up— there was so much miscommunication and jealousy and hurt swirling around them, threatening to swallow them whole. and she’s afraid it might, until she witnesses his sigh, listening to his confession, feeling guilt well up inside of her as she allows for more honesty to spill past her lips, shaking her head slightly. “ hey, no, that night was… it was exactly what i wanted. you always... i mean, it always was, with us. " she pauses, wanting to offer additional reassurance. " it was perfect, miller, honestly— it meant everything to me. ” her voice shakes, slightly, on those last few words, but she means it all the same. she means it so much, actually, and she wants him to know that, to understand just how it’s affected her, how much she hates that he second guessed himself because of her previous actions. and she can’t help but hold her breath at his next admission, feeling herself soften entirely at his explanation, all her anxiety and fear melting away, disappearing into the cold night air. so that’s what all this was about— fuck, did she feel ridiculous now for worrying, for assuming the absolute worst. the relief that accompanies it is palpable, apparent in the nervous chuckle that spills past her lips. “ god, she’s really missing out. it’s not a bad sight, looking up at you. ” her gaze holds on him a little too long after saying that, but she breaks eye contact with him soon after, turning her head to hide her embarrassment at letting those words slip out as fingers rub across her face, her lips, as if to force them back inside. “ sorry, i shouldn’t have said that, but… that’s not fucked up, though. or well, it probably would be to anyone else, but i… i mean, i don’t even let him see me fully naked, because i just… don’t feel good about myself with him, and i always turn off the lights because i can’t bear to look up and see someone that isn’t you, either. ” it’s followed with a sigh, yet she feels emboldened enough to take a few steps closer to him; still respectful of his space, but close enough to satisfy that constant urge inside her to be near him. “ can we just… start over, you think ? because i really hate fighting with you. ” a pause. “ but i get it, if i’ve fucked things up too much. i only want you to be happy, you know ? ”

[sugoroo]

warnings. fem!reader, oral (f receiving), face-sitting, ruined orgasm, satoru gojo is his own warning, 18+ minors dni.

thinking about absolutely insufferable boyfriend satoru gojo who always ruins your incoming orgasms by saying the corniest, most unserious things during sex.

picture him splayed across the bed, messy white locks stuck to his forehead with sweat and uncovered cerulean eyes clouded over with lust as you slowly lower yourself onto his awaiting mouth.

"mhm, that's it, baby," he's cooing, pale hands snaking around your thighs to help you stay upright as he impatiently pulls your pliant body down quicker onto his face. "sit riiight here."

and you're letting off a surprised squeak when he barely gives you a single moment to adjust to the new position before his full, grinning lips are planting a wet, obnoxious kiss right against your sappy folds.

"toru!" you giggle involuntarily, hips wriggling against his face as he continues placing such shameless, sloppy pecks against your sensitive skin — he's acting like a horny teenager making out with a girl for the first time, except in this case the girl is your pussy.

satoru's stupidly dopey smile never fades as he takes in your reactions to his ministrations, each whine and cute laugh just encouraging him to act even more ridiculous.

so he's flicking out his freakishly long tongue, gifting you with little kitten licks that are just barely enough to make your insides tingle but not enough to give you any real sense of pleasure.

and you rock against his face in search of the friction he knows you so desperately need, brows pinched in frustration and lower lip pushed out into an unconscious pout.

"aww, is this not enough for my pretty girl?" satoru chuckles, feigning obliviousness as he watches you restlessly grind into him — he just can't help that he loves seeing you like this, all needy and annoyed with his teasing.

"y-you know it's not," you grumble out, aiming what you hope is perceived as a scolding glare down at him as your fruitless wriggling slowly comes to a halt. "come on... please, toru?"

"now there's the magic word i was waiting for!" he cheers overdramatically, like a proud parent complimenting their child for finally using their manners like they were taught.

you roll your eyes in exasperation, but the action quickly morphs into one of them rolling backwards in pleasure when satoru finally drags his tongue properly through your sticky folds.

and you're rambling out various breathless 'thank you's, pent-up body relaxing onto his mouth as he begins to eat you out like he would've been doing from the beginning if he didn't enjoy making you work for it so much.

he's so unbelievably good at it too, wet lips peppering loving kisses against your cunt before he delves that lengthy tongue inside of your fluttering hole, effortlessly reaching your sweet spot without even having to try.

and you both know it's not long before you're going to fall apart, the thrust of the wet muscle in and out of you and the frequent pauses he takes to suck your puffy clit into his hot mouth just too delicious.

but just when you begin to feel that familiar feeling rising in the depths of your stomach, the metaphorical string of pleasure coiled tight and ready to snap at any moment, satoru just has to spoil it.

"yeahh, can tell you're close, baby." he groans into your pussy, the rumbling vibrations only adding to the colourful sensations coursing through your veins. "gonna cum for me?"

and you're nodding furiously, not even bothering to attempt to speak because there's no doubt in your mind that the words would end up sounding completely incomprehensible.

"mhm? gonna cum all over the strongest's face?" satoru adds in an exaggeratedly loud and sarcastic moan, the ridiculously corny words somehow managing to break through the fragile glass of your incoming orgasm, shattering it into a million pitiful pieces right before your eyes.

"g-god. why are you like this, gojo?" you groan in frustration, the haze of pleasure slowly but surely evaporating from your mind and leaving only a pathetic feeling of emptiness lingering in its place.

satoru just smirks smugly, shrugging as if he doesn't have a single care in the world and flicking his tongue back out to clear your glistening juices away from his lips. "like what?"

scowling in annoyance, you waste no time in swatting his hands away from your thighs and lifting your shaky hips away from his soaked face, rolling off of him and searching around the bedcovers for your panties.

"w-wait, baby, where are you going?" he mutters hurriedly, his entire face draining of all its colour as he watches you preparing to leave — it would almost be laughable how quickly he can go from teasing to pathetic in mere moments if you weren't so pissed off with him right now.

"to find someone who doesn't say shit like that when i'm about to cum." you state simply, tugging your underwear back up your legs before making a show of heading towards the bedroom door.

satoru is scrambling off of the mattress in seconds, almost tripping over himself in his determination to stop you in your tracks. "no, don't go, pretty girl! i was just joking around— h-hey... i'll make you cum as many times as you want if you stay, promise!"

...and that's the story of how you finally made your insufferable boyfriend satoru gojo learn his lesson.

© 2024 SUGOROO. please don't copy or translate any of my works without my explicit permission. all rights are reserved to me.

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

[xoxo-sarah]

My Wife

↝a/n: 2,605 w/c... I like this one, guys.

↝pairing: Season 1!Daryl x wife!reader

↝warning: usual walking dead stuff, angst, animal death (mentions blood. No details), reader being sexualized?, creepy men, harassment, the creepy guy getting punched (he deserved it), cursing, protective Daryl, Merle (ew), crying, moody and soft Daryl, sassy Daryl (it's season one, what do you expect?), slightly proofread

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 10.2.24

Daryl Dixon masterlist

Before the apocalypse, you'd say your life wasn't bad. You had a decent job that paid well. A husband, a dog, and a house you owned all on your own, without any help from your parents.

You had met Daryl fresh out of college. He was staying with Merle at the time. In a rush to get away from your parents, you found a rent-to-own house on the outskirts of Atlanta. It wasn't extravagant, only having 2 beds and one bath. It was still a house-your house.

The first time you went to the grocery store to stock up before you started work since the big move, an old man had hit on you. Daryl listened from afar, not wanting to cause any more trouble for you. He knew you hadn't been in these parts of town before, he hadn't seen you before.

After many attempts at shooting the guy down, Daryl had to intervene. The guy had grabbed your arm, and before you knew it, the guy was backing away from you.

“She said she's not interested.”

“My bad, man. Didn't know she was yours.” He raised his hands, grin still on his face. It was a game to him.

“So you only take no for an answer if I 'belong' to someone?” Venom laced your voice, disgust painted into the wrinkles between your eyebrows and frown lines, glaring through the guy. A chuckle rumbled out of his chest, followed by a smoker's cough that told you he had more tar in his lungs than he had sense in his brain.

“Ma'am, will all due respect-”

“I doubt anything respectful comes out of that raunchy mouth of yours.”

His grin dropped, eyes slanting in your direction. “This one sure has a mouth on her,” his attention moved back to Daryl. “She have that mouth in the sack?”

You scoffed, glancing down at the floor, collecting the words you wanted to shoot back at him.

In the time you looked away, Daryl had put the 12-pack of beer down and swung. You snapped your head up at the sound of a fist colliding with a cheek. Daryl glared, spitting at the man as he held his cheek in shock. “Give the lady some respect, prick.”

“Damnit, Dixon!” An elderly man came running down the aisle, a manager tag clinking against the pins on his shirt. Safe to say both men had been kicked out.

After checking out, you caught sight of Daryl hunched over, looking at his bruising knuckles.

“Here's for helping me.”

Daryl's head shot up, eyes flickering to the 12-pack in your outstretched hand. “Ya didn't have to.”

“You didn't have to.” He shrugged, taking the box from you.

the rest was history.

You eventually got together, then, moved in together. He supported you in your job, making jokes about you “bringing home the bacon”. The only downside was his brother.

“Damnit, Merle.”

An intoxicated Merle flopped on your couch, cackling up at Daryl. You watched from behind the couch, arms folded across Daryl's shirt draping over your form. Daryl's own top half was bare, his muscles flexing when he folded his arms in disappointment, glaring down.

“What? Did I interrupt you 'n your housewife duties?”

You scoffed, turning around to walk back to your room, the dog Daryl had gotten you for your birthday following after you. Merle watched your movement, lowly whistling. “I'd be a housewife for that piece, too.”

Daryl grabbed the collar of Merle's shirt, bringing him to eye level. “Don't talk about my wife like that.” He threw him back against the couch, “You're out by the mornin'.”

The world had gone to shit right in the middle of your workday. Everyone was running around, yelling and panicking. You tried making a beeline for your car, getting pushed and pulled every which way. The traffic was the worst you had ever seen, when you had finally made your way onto the road.

When you finally got home, the door was open.

You rushed in, looking in every room. There was no sign of Daryl besides the place being completely trashed, in a rush to leave. He wasn't there. You had no clue where he was, if he was safe, if he knew what was happening.

You cracked the backdoor open, nearly falling to your knees. A body laid on the back porch, blood dried on its way down the person's forehead. A lump of fur and blood was right beside it. A sob racked your body on your way back to your car. Your knuckles were ghostly white as they gripped the steering wheel, as you made your way out of town, away from the life you worked hard to get and worked harder to keep.

You eventually got stuck in even more traffic. Everything only got worse when your car ran out of gas.

You had to hide in the city, which was run with zombies. Luckily for you, you had found a few bodies that hadn't turned yet, stealing anything that could be used as a weapon. You were able to stay safe, hiding in an empty office building. Living off of the vending machines and what was left in the break rooms.

You regularly walked up to the roof, getting fresh air, wondering where Daryl had gone and if he was thinking of you. Sure, a part of you wanted to be mad at him for leaving without you, but you knew he had to have his reasons. Merle had to of made him run away with him when the news first got out.

While you looked over the edge, watching as dead bodies herded together, feasting on whatever had run into the city on your way up here, you saw quick movement to your left. Swirling around, you held your gun up, pointing it at the kid in front of you.

“Woah, Hey! I'm alive- I'm alive! Not going to hurt you.” The poor boy might as well have been shivering in his boots. His hands shook in the air. He was probably the third person you've seen, alive, since you squatted in the top floor. He didn't seem like the guy to kill you just to take your stuff. “Look, there's a guy in the tank down there. I'm just trying to help him.” You thought back to the sounds of pained neighing you heard when you first stepped onto the roof, but you had shrugged it off, figuring you were going insane already. No sleep and being isolated will do that to you. “C'mon, dude.” He was practically begging you to not shoot him in the head.

What would Daryl do in this situation? He wouldn't just trust anyone when it comes to survival. You reluctantly put your gun down, watching as he sighed in relief. You hid the shake in your hands when they fell to your sides, not wanting him to know you didn't want to kill him even if he were dangerous.

“We have to get down there to help him.” The boy leaned over the edge, at the tank and the 'geeks' that surrounded it.

“We?”

He looked back at you, then to the tank. “The extra help would be appreciated.”

Somehow, you followed after him, climbing down fire escapes and counting the amount of bodies in each alleyway. He was quick, but you kept up with him with ease.

He led you down the alleyway, hiding behind the trashcans and gate separating you and a painful death. “You have good aim? I need you to shoot that big guy closest to the tank.” He whispered, fixing the hat on his head.

You glanced at him, watching as he awaited your next move. You whispered back, “it's empty.” You held the gun up in emphasis. You weren't going to tell him that when it was pointed at him. He huffed, throwing his head back. “I only have a knife.”

He shrugged off his backpack, grabbing the empty gun and throwing it in there. It was useless with no bullets, and it only took up a hand, making it harder for you to climb.

“Alright, change of plans.” He grabbed the walkie, bringing it to his mouth before pressing the button. “Hey, you alive in there?”

A frantic voice broke through the static, “Hello? Hello?!”

The next thing you knew, you were running downstairs with the young boy, Glenn, you had figured out, and the guy you nearly died saving, Rick. Glenn led you two to another alleyway, before the door to the building in front of you busted open, 2 people filing out with gear and helmets on, attacking the walkers wondering in front of you.

“Lets go!” Glenn jumped over the bodies on the ground, running through the door, you and Rick following. As soon as you were through the door, you were pushed to the other side of the wall, before Rick was pushed back, a gun aimed at his face. “You son of a bitch! We ought to kill you.” A blonde woman was seething, ready to put a bullet in Rick's head.

“Just chill out, Andrea. Back off.” One of the guys who bashed the walker's head in pulled off the armor, glaring at the blonde.

“Come on, ease up.”

“Ease up? You're kidding me, right? We're dead because of this stupid asshole.” The gun was pointed at you next, “And her.” Her finger twitched on the trigger, but you were at a loss of words.

“She helped.” Glenn was ignored.

“Andrea, I said, back the hell off. Or pull the trigger.” The same guy from before stepped forward, closer to Andrea. It was silent for a second, before Andrea dropped her hand, lips quivering with oncoming tears. You took a breath, having the room to do so when a gun isn't pointed at you.

“We're dead,” Andrea sobbed, “All of us.” Her gaze moved back to Rick, “Because of you.”

You wondered after everyone as they walked through the old building, listening as they scolded rick for firing his gun.

“No signal. Maybe the roof.” The man, who was introduced as T-Dog, said, holding the walkie. Before anyone else could reply, a gun shot fired, echoing from above.

“Oh no, Is that Dixon?”

“Dixon?”

Andrea stopped her movement, looking back at you. “Yeah. What, you know 'em?”

Sadly, you were met with a distasteful Merle on the roof. He refused to tell you about Daryl-about how Merle had to drag in out of the house. About how Daryl wanted to pick you up and take you with them. About how Daryl had gone back, against Merle's wishes, and found you nowhere in the house. But you weren't told that, so the nerves in your stomach still fluttered, making you feel like you were going to vomit any minute. The only thing he told you was that Daryl was with the rest of the group by the quarry.

The nerves still fluttered even on your way to the said quarry. The thought of Merle being trapped in the roof was at the back of your mind, the thought of seeing Daryl for the first time in God knows how long, being front and center in your mind. Your leg shook with nerves as you sat in the back of the van, hitting a bump every once in a while, and knocking into one of the other people.

The van pulled up to the quarry, people piling out of the back, running to their families.

You were introduced to a woman named Carol. She was surprised when you told her that you knew Daryl. The short time she had known the man, she couldn't think of him having a soft spot for anyone, but here you were. She told you that he had gone hunting and that he should be back before dawn.

You sat around, getting to know everyone. As soon as Carol's husband raised his voice to her, you had kept an eye on him, instantly feeling protective of the woman. As she silently did for you. She kept an eye on you, making sure you felt comfortable among all of the strangers.

Night fell and there was still no sign of Daryl. You distracted yourself by helping Carol with whatever, or Dale with lookout. You hadn't told anyone much about you and Daryl. Mostly because you couldn't form a coherent sentence with Daryl on your mind. Where was he? Was he okay? Why wasn't he back? The band around your ring finger became a fidget habit. You spun it around any time the thoughts got too much.

The crisp morning air did little to wake you. You might as well have been a walker with how you sluggishly moved around camp, helping with anything, wanted to be helpful and pull your weight.

Carol handed you another pair of soaked pants, to ring the water out and hang it up to dry. While doing so, your eyes caught sight of Rick and Lori. They had been reunited. When was it your turn?

“How did you and Daryl meet?” Glancing back up at Carol, you cleared your throat to speak.

Before you could utter a word, a scream echoed throughout the camp, followed by Carl's screams for his mother.

Everyone stopped what they were doing, a few running toward the screaming, ready for the worst.

You walked behind the group, watching as Rick, Glenn, Dale, Shane, and a few others beat the walker that had made it from the city.

Dale swung down with his axe, cutting the head clean off the walker's body.

“It's the first one we've had up here.” He heaved, “They never come this far up the mountain.”

“Well, they're running out of food in the city, that's what.” Another guy, Jim, said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Branches snapped, followed by more footsteps. The guys with the weapons moved toward the sound, weapons ready.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He hadn't seen you yet.

Daryl stepped over branches, slightly taken aback with everyone standing in front of him, ready to strike.

Everyone took a step back, “Oh, Jesus.” Dale's shoulders released the tension.

“Son of a bitch.” Daryl cursed, “That's my deer!” He walked to what was left of the poor animal.

He looked how he did when you first met. Frustration clear on his brow. You had helped him get rid of the constant scrunch of his brow and frown on his lips, and here it was, making its appearance in a dramatic manner.

“Look at it, all gnawed on by this-” He kicked the headless body that laid on the ground, “filthy,” kick “disease-bearing,” kick “motherless,” kick “poxy bastard!”

“Calm down, son. That's not helping.” Dale peeped, infuriating Daryl more.

“What do you know about it, old man?” Daryl walked closer, getting in Dale's face. "Why don't you take that stupid hat and go back to “On Golden Pond”?"

“Daryl.”

Daryl paused, his face dropping. He turned to the voice, his knees nearly collapsing from underneath him.

Before you could say anything else, his crossbow was dropping to the ground, followed by the string of squirrels on his shoulder. He rushed over, his body colliding with yours. His calloused hands pulled your face closer to his.

He didn't care if everyone was watching. Or if the scene made them think differently about his tough-guy thing he had going on. His lips moved against yours.

“I didn't know where you were.” He mumbled against your lips. “I tried looking everywhere-”

“I know, I know. Doesn't matter.”

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

[xinganhao]

🍨 svt spoiling their partner.

★ prompt: how ot13 spoils their partner? 🥹🥹🥹 i am just a girl give me treats c/o @shinwonderful

ⓘ established relationship, pet names, fluff. headcanons under the cut. special thanks to @chugging-antiseptic-dye for helping! ♡

🍨 read more?

seungcheol 𖹭 planning dates. he will refuse to let you lift a finger for your day out. everything will be meticulously laid out, finetuned to be something that you'll enjoy. his goal is to lessen the mental load of decision-making and planning; he wants you to be able to focus solely on enjoying the surprise, and he'll break his back to make sure that happens.

jeonghan 𖹭 'parallel play'. even if the two of you might not be interested in the same things, that's okay. he's happiest to spend quality time with you at home, where the two of you are free to do your own thing within eachother's presence. just being in your vicinity already makes him content, and so he plans everything around the two of you getting to explore and share your respective hobbies.

shua 𖹭 acts of service. need help with your taxes? need someone to fill up your tank? he's already on it. he'll say that these are all 'little things', call it the bare minimum, when it's apparent that he makes it a conscious effort to make your day-to-day easier. his brand of spoiling you comes in the form of quietly doing things that will improve your quality of life.

junhui 𖹭 buying clothes you'll like. he can't help it, really. when he sees an article of clothing that he thinks suits your style? when he finds a local brand that shares your advoacy? he's already pulling out his wallet. he likes the idea of dressing you up. nothing makes him happier than knowing you're wearing an outfit that he entirely picked out for you.

soonyoung 𖹭 daily reasons why he loves you. people always joke that he has a bit of a motormouth, so why shouldn't he use it on talking about you, you, you? he's big on words of affirmation, on making sure you never doubt how he feels for you. he'll point out the little and big things that make him adore you, and it's never the same reason twice.

wonwoo 𖹭 indulging your interests. he may not always understand these trends— blind boxes, must-have fashion pieces, et cetera— but he'll never make you feel bad about it. if there's anything that you want, he's already doing everything within his power to get it. his greatest joy is seeing your face light up once he's gotten you your 'priority' item; it's why he keeps doing it in the first place.

jihoon 𖹭 trying new things for you. there's a long list of things that jihoon never thought he'd do, but then he started dating you. time and time again, he willingly goes out of his comfort zone to accompany you on the little adventures and experiences that you ask to go on. he does these things scared, does them anxious, does them begrudgingly,— does them all for you.

seokmin 𖹭 meals he thinks you'll like. he's the type to have dozens of tabs open for homemade recipes dot com. he knows he's an amateur at this, but he's undeterred in trying. whether it's a trending pastry on tiktok or the comfort meal that your mother makes you, he's determined to learn it so you're always eating well.

mingyu 𖹭 getting-to-know card games. he gives as good as he takes, which means mingyu's way is to listen and remember. a night where the two of you can just have deep conversations with no interruptions is his ideal evening. he will know he succeeded if the two of you end up talking until the sun rises, feeling like the hours haven't passed at all.

minghao 𖹭 postcards from tour stops. he loves art and he loves you. his postcards are pocket-sized reminders of those facts, always packaged with a few choice words that are sweet and sincere. his trinkets are very "i-got-you-this-because-it-reminded-me-of-you" in nature, and you know each one was purchased with you at the front of mind.

seungkwan 𖹭 getting you your favorites. he figures he should put his industry connections to use somehow. he's always amused by how happy you get over a rare photocard, signed album, or concert tickets, and so he keeps it up. buying dozens of albums, contacting other labels, bearing the arduous ticketing. your excitement at the end of it makes it all worth it.

vernon 𖹭 producing songs. he hadn't really pegged himself as the making-music-for-the-sake-of-it type until he met you. now, he revels in getting to send you a track that's for your ears only. all the lyrics just seems to flow naturally when it's you inspiring him, and so he sends you works-in-progress with reminders that you're the only intended audience.

chan 𖹭 at-home massages. he's all too familiar with the aches of an ailing body, so he knows exactly how and where to work on you. he always does what he calls 'the works'— a good bath, scented candles, essential oils. he lets you take your time, and he takes his time with you in helping you unwind.

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[ghouljams]

Ok nobody extrapolate anything about me from this...

The first time you cry in front of the 141:

The first time you cry in front of Ghost it's because you can't fucking take it anymore. All the little things, all the comments you know he didn't mean to hurt, all the conversations you ignored because you didn't want to make him feel like the bad guy, it all comes to a head. You don't even mean it to happen, and you feel like shooting yourself on the spot as soon as the tears start flowing. It feels manipulative. It feels disingenuous. You feel like a piece of shit having him awkwardly bundle you in his arms as you break down sobbing over a topic that normally would mean nothing to you. And it all comes out. All the worries and slights you ignored, all the fears and doubts, all the things that made you question if you could ever even start to bring up with him. Like throwing up, once it starts you can't stop it.

He looks like you've hit him when you finally escape his bear hug. You barely get the chance to take it in before you're thrust back into sobbing hysterics, blubbering out apologies, how you feel like you're manipulating him, how you're a bad partner, how you're sure he's going to realize he doesn't want you and leave. You barely hear the rough "Jesus Christ" over your own hiccuping.

Ghost shuffles the two of you over to grab you a t-shirt to blow your nose in while you're sniffling and wiping at your eyes. You feel pathetic having him hold the fabric to your face and telling you to blow.

"Didn't know ya made this much snot love," he jokes.

"You're dot funny," you whine, nose still clogged with wattery mucus as your tears finally start calming down.

"I know," he grumps.

"You're mad at me," you sniffle.

"I'm not," he sounds mad, "mad at myself. Shoulda seen ya keepin' things to yourself, I'm glad ya finally told me." His scarred mouth screws to one side. "Just gotta work on makin' sure we don't get to this point again."

-

The first time you cry in front of Soap it's because you're so fucking mad at him. He's arguing with you over nothing, the same way he always does when he's in a bad mood. Finding little things that dig at you and twisting just enough to make it not his fault when you snap. Back and forth with your barbs until you got to bed angry.

You can feel the tears burning at your waterline before they spill and you know your hot cheeks don't bode any better. You're not yelling but you almost wish you were, at least of you were yelling at each other it might make you feel better about the sudden waterworks. You hate when this happens. Too big an emotion in the body, it has to come out somewhere, you suppose this is just the quickest avenue. The way Soap's face drops from anger to concern pisses you off though.

"Hen, are ya-"

"I'm so fucking mad right now," you assure him, "don't look at me, don't even acknowledge them."

"Ah dinnae ken," His voice is getting softer, it only makes you more upset, "Oh my bonnie, ahm sorry ah didnae think this would hurt ya so bad."

"Fuck off," you try to push past him to lock yourself in the bathroom and he catches your arm to pull you against him. "Fuck off!" You shriek, pushing at him.

"No," he holds you a little tighter, "my mam would 'ave my heid hearin' ah let ya walk away from me like this, yer stayin' 'ere."

"I will fucking skin you Mactavish," you struggle harder.

"Aye anno, now shut up an' quit yer kickin'."

You do neither of those things.

-

The first time Gaz sees you cry it's because no one's ever seen you before. Even in your best relationships, your closest friendships, no one sees you like Gaz. No one picks you up from work with flowers and takes you by your favorite bakery just so you can have a slice of cake when you watch your comfort show. You're not even through the title music, Gaz sorting through your takeout options after he'd gotten you a "fancy plate" and a small fork to eat with, when you break down in sobs. He's on you immediately, hushing you as he gathers you into his arms. He's so attentive it hurts.

"It's OK baby," he hums, "don't have to talk about it, you just let it out."

God even that gets you crying. You don't have to get your words right or find a way to explain what you're feeling, you can just feel it. You try to think of a way to put it into words but it all lines up wrong, sounds too juvenile, doesn't make any sense even to you. There's no need to say anything though, Gaz just sits there with you, holds you through it as you wet his shoulder with your tears.

You don't even know why you're crying by the end of it, you just kept coming up with other reasons to cry. Jesus you don't think you ever got over your last grandparent dying, or losing that one friend, that's something to unpack later. You feel drained. Literally dehydrated drained. Gaz's shirt is soaked, but he doesn't day anything when you pull back.

He cups your cheek at wipes at the wet stains on your cheek with his thumb, eyes searching yours before he gives you a tight smile.

"Why don't you go take a hot shower, yeah?" He offers, you give him a watery nod, he smiles and pats your knee. "Alright, off you go. I'll be in, in a second."

The second time you cry in front of Gaz it's before he's got you pinned to the shower wall.

-

The first time Price sees you cry it's because you're tired. You're tired of giving everything to this relationship and seeing him leave right when things seem to be falling into place. His phone buzzes in the middle of the night and you don't stop the downpour when he grumbles out a swear and turns on the light. You glare at the ceiling and let the tears flow. It hurts. Tight in your chest. This feeling like you'll never be enough, like he'll always have something more important than you, it kills you. So why can't you leave him?

Are the good times really good enough to make up for the bad?

It makes him stop what he was doing when he sees the resolute grimace and the flow of tears over your cheeks. You shudder in a breath when he sits on the side of the bed. You refuse to look at him.

How could he do this to you?

"Sweetheart," he starts, his voice low, gentling, "I'm sorry."

"You're not." You correct him, "Otherwise you wouldn't keep doing it."

"You want me to choose between you and the world, you know what I'll say." He always sounds so sharp, ready to guilt you into giving up what he wants.

"I'm asking you to choose between me and paperwork," you bite back.

"You don't know-"

"You get phone calls when you're being deployed." You remind him, "You get reminders when papers are due." You turn to glare at him. The look on his face twists like a knife in your chest. You're dead on the money, and it's killing him. "So can this really not wait until the morning, are you really that eager to be rid of me?"

"I'm sorry," he tries again, toeing off his shoes, "you're right, I hadn't noticed." You turn over as he climbs under the duvet again. You fold your legs up as his arm drapes over you hip and he curls around you. His lips touch your shoulder, a silent plea for forgiveness. "Let me make it up to you, no more running into red tape I promise."

You don't bother agreeing to empty promises, but the next day he's had the paperwork sent from the base. The same the next day. Price always told you working from home didn't suit him. Waking you up with a cuppa on the other hand and walking you to the station does though.

He makes good on his promise, he doesn't run off until the next call comes in.